


FAREWELL; a winter's tale

by MariposaMonarca



Category: Powerpuff Girls
Genre: F/M, Fuyunohanashi, Music, Sadness, depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28693719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MariposaMonarca/pseuds/MariposaMonarca
Summary: Boomer is a distant boy, he doesn't go to the same school as his brothers, but they are going to leave him and pick him up. He is aware that he attracts attention even without wanting to. Bubbles has been looking at him for a long time and, from a project in the art class, she begins to approach him, noticing that his eyes carry a huge void, one that she wants to know more about.
Relationships: Boomer/Bubbles Utonium
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. OO

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [ADIÓS; relato de invierno](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/740934) by Mariposa Monarca. 



> The inspiration for this story came from "Fuyu no hanashi", another song belonging to the soundtrack of the anime "Given".  
> Thanks for your interest.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> まだ溶けきれずに残った  
> 日陰の雪みたいな  
> 想いを抱いて生きてる
> 
> Like snow that refuses to melt,  
> hiding from the sun in the shadows,  
> I live with these feelings inside me.

Boomer was aware that his classmates, in that new school, called him by several names, being _emo_ the most recurrent of them. It's not like he cared, either, or they lied. He spent all his breaks sitting near the stairs that led to the roof of the library building, where people didn't bother him, he could take a nap if he wanted and sleep peacefully, but the truth is that he avoided sleeping when it wasn't time to do so. He stayed alone, with a notebook of white sheets and a blue cloth cover that he had been given as a Christmas present, as well as a pen. Some phrases could come out of him and he had to be ready at all times, he didn't want to let anything slip through his fingers. That was his school life, the truth, always alone, and he had never found that annoying, even if that's what those who saw him thought.

He likes to keep a low profile, he likes not to be the center of attention. Even though he met many people outside of school, he liked to be ignored by others. It was rare, but he seemed to be the only one able to understand himself, and if he was okay with that, there shouldn't be any problem.

The three Utonium sisters were coming out of class and Buttercup was the first to notice that Boomer was sitting down, his bag was across his chest, his head was resting in his hands, he seemed to be waiting for someone.

“What are you looking at?” Blossom asked before looking in the same direction as her sister. “Oh, right”.

“Have you ever wondered what's going on in his head?” Buttercup asked. “It doesn't make me feel comfortable”.

“It's really not important to me," said the redhead fixing her uniform tie. “I don't even know why he' s studying at this school. I'm sure his brothers are going to one down the road”.

“Who are you talking about?” asks Bubbles, but her sisters don't respond with words, but with a vague, dismissive hand gesture, as if it really doesn't matter.

And it doesn't. Boomer didn't have any relevance in their life, why should they care about him? It would be cynical of them, in fact, if they didn't do it when he first joined the community, why would they do it at that point? It wasn't worth it, it would be hypocritical on their part, and they weren't there to play that kind of role. However, Bubbles looks at him with curiosity. She had noticed Boomer, especially since they were in the same room in the arts class, they never spoke, she always waited for the opportunity to do so, but that opportunity never came and she was content to look at him from afar, or out of the corner of her eye, depending on where they were. She goes after her sisters who had taken a couple of steps forward, not looking back. Anyway, Boomer hadn't taken any notice of the looks. He was in his world.

**.  
.**

“Today I want you to make a portrait of your partner. It should be a sketch, in the first instance, then you should retouch all the details that are necessary until you find a portrait as realistic as possible,” the teacher gave the instructions, then she applauded twice in order to call the attention of her students. “Let's form pairs!”

Unconsciously, Bubbles turns around, Boomer is leaning against the back of his chair, looking out the window and keeping his hands behind his neck. It was noticeable that he was tense; he did not usually pay attention to the works of pairs unless it was necessary, and this was precisely the case. She walked around the room with her eyes, everyone seemed to be clear about who they wanted to work with, she, like him, always worked alone but not because she didn't like to socialize, it was just that "teamwork” used to hold her back.

She looked at Boomer again, she felt a chill, he was looking at her too. His eyes were not shining, they were cold, empty, but it was a too penetrating look, she became nervous, and those nerves increased when he, calmly, made a gesture with his hand to invite her to sit on the chair that is on the desk in front of him. She did not expect this, that is, she did not expect him to take the initiative, but things happened in this way, and she had to take advantage of the instance to be nearer to whom seemed to be always far from all.

They work in silence; even it is not necessary to speak, just to look at each other and draw, and to trace lines that would be similar, in the best way, to the face of their companion. When she looked at him, he paid attention to his notebook, so they did not cross glances. He drew the outline in detail, then went on to give certain details to the hair, he had it in a mess, but at the same time it didn't look that way, so it was something complex, it required a great deal of time. Finally, he had to draw the features of her face. Boomer arranged his notebook somewhat low, thus giving her full access to his face. She started with the mouth, then the nose, eye contour and eyebrows. But the eye work was incomplete, she needed him to look at her, even for a second. That happened, but his gaze did not rest precisely on her eyes, but on her lips. And although they did not cross glances, for her it was more than enough to be able to draw. His eyes seemed colder when they were this close, she didn't want to imagine the depth of them if you talked to him face to face.

She finished her final sketch and looked at it with some pride. The boy's portrait was not faithful to him, but it denoted his essence. Bubbles had taken the right to give him a little smile, maybe he just did it to get out of doubt how Boomer would look with another expression on his face, other than that empty indifference, anyway, she liked the way it looked.

“Ready," she heard him say, "do you want us to show our drawings?”

“Yes," she answered, trying not to sound too animated or disinterested.

Each one counted to three, not out loud, went inside, and the drawings were shown. Bubbles admired Boomer's sketch, which she thought was too good to be a simple draft. He was talented, not equal, not one hundred percent, Boomer did not seem to be the person who wanted to dedicate himself to the arts. She admired her work out of the corner of her eye, her drawing was better than the one he made of her, however, her attention was on Boomer's reaction to her drawing.

“A smile?” he asked, Bubbles was nervous. “Have you seen me smile?”

The question was not asked in an aggressive tone, but rather calmly, very calmly. She stuttered a little, Boomer looked at her and tilted her head a little to the side.

“I'm sorry, it's just that... I guess I got carried away," said Bubbles smiling at him. “Sorry”.

“It's okay," said Boomer, "I like it, actually”.

“Really?”

“You draw too well, I'm embarrassed by my sketch”.

“No, don't do that, it's good, very good”.

“I wish I could have tried to make a drawing more faithful to your reality," he clicks his tongue and rests his back on the back of the chair.

“We'll have the next class," said Bubbles, smiling.

Boomer's deep, empty look stuck in her, she noticed that he wrinkled his nose as he looked at her in more detail. Hadn't he already looked at her when he was drawing her? Why did she feel that she was now really being watched? She looked away from the drawing of him still in her arms.

“You're good at drawing," he said again, looking into her eyes and with such a serious expression that it was scary, he continued talking. “But you're better at imagining”.

“Huh?” she wondered, but his answer never came.

She would have liked to continue talking, to ask him what he meant by "I was better at imagining". Why would he say that? Why did he have that empty expression? He couldn't imagine? Did he mean the smile? He definitely meant the smile. The teacher asked them to get their seats back because she would start correcting, in general, everyone's faults, as she would give the key points for the drawing of a face - something that already belonged in the final evaluation.

When the class was over, Boomer was the first to leave the room. He was so discreet that no one noticed, except Bubbles; she could see his blonde hair coming through the doorway.

She didn't see him again until the time of departure, sitting on the edge of the planter that led to the exit. She walked at the pace with her sisters, he waited for his brothers, she knew it because she was able to distinguish them, Boomer stood up quickly and went with them. Outside, her sisters were still talking and talking, she lost track of the conversation. She was looking for Boomer, he walked in the opposite direction from her, while he was going down, she was going up. She stood still, realizing that while his brothers were looking big, Boomer was hunching over, wanting to make himself small.

"You're good at drawing. But you're better at imagining”. She remembered those words that gave her such a bad feeling. What was the reason?

“Let's go, Bubbles," said one of her sisters, she didn't know which one, but she had gotten out of her trance, she didn't have to be there anymore.

“A-Ah! I'm coming!” she turned to them and hurried. She didn't want to explain who she was looking at or why.


	2. O1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> まだ解けない魔法のような  
> それとも呪いのような  
> 重い荷物を抱えてる
> 
> Like a spell that cannot be broken  
> or perhaps as a curse,  
> I carry with me this enormous burden

Call it an impulse or even a need for attention, Bubbles knew that what she was doing spoke for those who looked at her, she wasn't an idiot, the others were. Her sisters, the first few days, were like everyone else, but then they stopped thinking that way, after all, all Bubbles was doing was saying hello to Boomer. He reciprocated, a gesture with his hand, and the cold, indifferent look in his eyes. At first, Bubbles thought he would be more surprised, however, he was not, he always responded to her greeting and it did not seem like he did it as an obligation, rather, there was no variation in his personality.

"He was always polite," Bubbles thought. "What did it cost others to be educated with him?"

Greetings and goodbyes, it became usual. Two weeks like this, she with a radiant smile, he with an expressionless face.

On one of those Friday afternoons, Blossom and Bubbles waited for Buttercup to leave her classes and meet them at the exit. Boomer would peek out into the hallway, unbuttoning the first button on his uniform shirt, massaging the back of his neck with one hand while carrying a black bag with the other, but a worn, faded black one. It was a guitar bag. After massaging the back of his neck, he put that hand in the pocket of his gray pants and focused on the road, looking up only to see Bubbles and give her a farewell gesture, again, looking at the floor. Bubbles' eyes followed him, until she noticed that his brothers had already arrived. It struck her that those guys didn't study at the same school, there was a reason behind that, it was obvious. Would she know? Perhaps.

After a few seconds, Blossom said "there" and pointed to the hallway inside the school. Buttercup made an appearance, running, hair all over the place, carrying the bag in which she had carried her materials for her physics class this morning. Blossom makes a mock reproachful face, while Bubbles laughs.

“Excuse me," Buttercup says, trying to catch her breath by leaning on her knees, "I was just making conversation”.

“We noticed," sighs Blossom, then her countenance changes, she smiles and elbows her sister with enthusiasm. “Come on, who were you talking to? About what?”

“Don't think anything stupid," answered Buttercup, the sisters started walking out of the school. “I was talking to Mitch”.

“Did he ask you out?” asked Bubbles this time.

“No! Stop that! We were talking about something else”.

“What?” Blossom seemed very interested. That curiosity increased when Buttercup pointed to Bubbles.

“Our sister's little friend”.

“The little friend?” Blossom asks, "Ah, Boomer!”

“He plays guitar," Buttercup says as they cross the exit and head up the street. Bubbles remains silent. “Always, the same melody, I've heard it a couple of times, today I realized it's him. It's great, absolutely great”.

“Really?” Blossom looked at Bubbles, wanted to know his sister's reaction, but she wasn't interested in talking. “Bubbles, did you know that?”

The girl just shrugged, but didn't say a word. The subject, by agreement between the two elders, was left there.

**.  
** **.**

Friday came, Bubbles was thinking, all weekend long, to talk to Boomer. Yeah, okay, maybe not "talk" to him, but if she asked him how he was doing, it could be considered a conversation. She would say more words and they would interact for more seconds. There was nothing to lose, it was just a simple conversation. If he greeted her, even glanced at her, he would surely respond. He was polite, no doubt about it.

Time of departure, that's the only place she could find him. He was always outside, in the garden, the occasions when she went out before him were counted on the fingers of one hand, but even so, they managed to "communicate". Greetings and goodbyes were the only things she had accomplished, more than enough for her, of course, goodbyes were not always, since Bubbles used to leave the main hall of the school just when she saw Boomer approaching his brothers.

That Friday afternoon, with fall increasingly present in the afternoons, Boomer was in the planter. She would wish him a " nice weekend", she would expect a "likewise" from him. More than enough, it was one more step of advantage she had. Advantage of what? She didn't know, however, that didn't mean it didn't exist. She looks at him carefully, fixes the strands of hair that are escaping from her low braids, takes a breath of air, trying to go unnoticed in case one of her sisters was watching her. She swims around. As she approached him, she noticed that he was reading a wrinkled and battered paper that was somewhat yellowish, she did not know how to describe his expression, because he did not have, just looked at the paper, did not blink, then he folded it, the paper already had a shape he had become accustomed to, and he kept it in a brown notebook. Before putting the notebook away too, he takes the small pen he had hidden in the spiral of his notebook and writes something down, a quick but somewhat long note.

“Boomer!” she shouts, he jumps up and down.

Bubbles noticed that she quickly put the notebook away in her backpack.

“Hello," he replied, in the same tone as always: neither friendly nor indifferent, let's say it's a ‘Boomer tone’.

“I think we should say ‘goodbye’," she said, he just nodded.

“Of course... in that case, goodbye”.

“Oh, I'm not leaving yet." Boomer raised an eyebrow, would he be interested? He didn't care, she kept talking. “My sisters still won't come out”.

“Right”.

“Your brothers still aren't here”.

“No," he said as if it wasn't obvious.

“Taking advantage of that, then," she put her hands behind her back, "I'd like to know if it's true that you play the guitar. The other day I saw you leave with one”.

“Well, yes, I play the guitar, it's not like I'm walking around with it just for fun”.

“Okay," she laughed a little nervously, the conversation lasting longer than usual. “And are you any good? Or are you just learning?”

“The truth is that I'm pretty good at it, not just the guitar”.

“Do you play other instruments?”

“Yes, I do”.

“That's great…”

They remained silent, Boomer's fixed gaze made her a little nervous. She scratched her neck slightly, drew a line with her index finger until she reached the top of her chin, tilted her head to one side, and realized that Boomer was frowning a little, suggesting that something was not right.

“Would you teach me?” she asked.

“Sorry?” he asked and she saw him blink his eyes several times.

“Would you teach me to play guitar?”

“I can't today," he answers.

“It doesn't have to be today," she anticipates a possible excuse for him to reject her.

Boomer squeezes his lips and looks towards the entrance of the central hall, Bubbles does the same, her sisters were already leaving.

“Do you really want me to teach you?” Boomer said that with his eyes fixed on the sisters who didn't hide their astonishment at all, then he went back to her. “Is it serious?”

“It has nothing to do with my sisters, I can assure you. Do you want a pinky swear?” she wanted to sound funny, but Boomer didn't smile at her.

“Okay. Can you do it on Monday?” He asked, and she nodded. “Monday, then. Do you have a guitar?”

“Yes," at that point, Blossom and Buttercup were already very close.

“Boomer!” they heard Brick's voice beckoning with both arms from the doorway.

“See you Monday, after school. Bye”.

It was quite fast, he stood up, took his backpack and walked away from her at the same time her sisters were arriving. They exchanged glances between the two of them; Bubbles seemed not to be interested in seeing them, not while Boomer continued to be part of the scene; when he disappeared in a low direction, she saw again her sisters who were expectant.

“What?” asked Bubbles in a somewhat violent tone.

“What were you talking about with him?” Blossom needed to feed off the gossip involving her sister.

“A date?” Buttercup joked, earning an elbow from the redhead.

“No," Bubbles' response was blunt, a heavy sigh and a nod. “Let's just say I want to, no, I need to know what he's hiding”.

“Is he hiding something?” Buttercup asked, and the three of them began to walk to the exit.

“Well, that's what I want to find out”.

**.  
.**

While the weekend passed faster than he could have wished, Monday arrived with cold winds and a completely overcast sky. His morning shower lasts less than three minutes, it takes him ten minutes to get dressed, and after that he can go out for breakfast. Milk, cereal and a red apple. Sometimes he'd like to have some of that hot chocolate Butch used to make for himself, then he'd remember that Brick had a habit of going in and "fixing" his brother's recipe by adding more sugar than necessary. At other times, he would easily join in the screaming and euphoria emanating from his brothers, but since  _ she  _ left, Boomer has not been the same.  _ She  _ took his smile and enthusiasm with her.

“You always have an ‘end of the world’ face," said Brick, passing an arm over his shoulders as they walked to school. “Why aren't you more grateful?”

“Yes, Boomer," adds Butch, taking a couple of steps forward and walking in reverse. “Think about it: you have one more day to live, you can make a big change if you put your mind to it”.

“Yes," he answers with a nod, "I know”.

“This day!” said Butch, understanding that his brother didn't want to continue the conversation. “It's the day!”

He didn't continue to listen to what his brother was saying. They used to discuss topics of common interest between them, but those were not of interest to him. He could hear them, but not listen to them, because he did not understand them, he could not understand that a real date meant so much to them. Perhaps his bad experience in love had made him understand that he was not for that, so he pitied them.

On the way to his school, and like every morning, they passed by the bus stop, one in particular that was next to a cedar tree.That stop was his meeting point, one of many, but the one that had meant the most to him, so much so that the name he had wanted to keep it forever, he was afraid that at some point the authorities would want to change it. What would become of him without the stop "Bartolomew Winter Avenue with Jojo Evergreen Avenue"? If they changed one or another street name, would that mean that his life would also change? What an idiot he was to think that he pitied his brothers for their interest in dating, when he still had memories of his own with  _ her _ .

> " _Sorry, I'm late_ ," recalls the voice as he stands for a moment at the bus stop, turning back, seeing a blonde, blue-eyed girl running towards him, waving her arm, on Bartolomew Winter Avenue.

He looks away from that bus stop, continuing to remember those things will only end up tying him to a past that should already be over, or on the way to. Boomer looks at his brothers' backs, he thinks they didn't notice, however, both boys exchange worried looks regarding his state of mind. They're not idiots, they know he's not well, that he hasn't been able to say goodbye in earnest yet.

“See you at half past three!” their brothers tell him, it was on that corner, too, where the three of them were saying goodbye.

“Today I'll finish at about half past four," says Boomer, his brothers notice the guitar he was carrying. “There's no need to go after me. Goodbye,” he says to keep going up Jojo Evergreen Street while they were coming down, not before assuring him that they would wait for him at that hour.

He liked the idea of going to different schools, mainly because it gave him a moment alone. It was enough that they were going to pick him up, he also liked to spend time alone, that was the time he liked best, especially because he was wearing his hearing aids. He wanted to be alone, he didn't want to worry anyone, what better than to pretend not to be part of this earthly world while succumbing to the sound of the guitar, drums, bass, the voice of a singer who seemed to be telling the most epic love story he could have had. He is transported and feels that he is part of that love story, accompanied by the girl he loves... except that the girl is no longer with him. With his eyes fixed on the road, attentive to his surroundings to avoid any kind of accident, with his free hand, he felt his pocket where he had kept the end of his life, an object that would accompany him until who knows when, one that, definitely, just having it reminded him why he ended up the way he is.

In the distance he was already beginning to see the large building that corresponded to his school. If he had decided to study there it was only because he wanted to have an approach to the humanities, he did not want to be in an industrial type school as his brothers were, he wanted something different. If he could dedicate himself to music, for him, that would be great, if he was given the law, that would also be great, what wouldn't be great is to end up studying something with mathematics and with economics, or something related to the sciences, he wasn't good with those subjects because they weren't of his interest.

He remembered that his first approach to it was when he convinced everyone at home that he wanted to take advanced classes even if he wasn't some kind of gifted or something, they ended up listening to him. He was still going, but he didn't have the same enthusiasm as before. A year and a half ago, she would go into his house, go into the room and wake him up by throwing water in his face.

> "Are you going to become my manager?” _she_ used to tell him. “Well, if you sleep all morning and skip classes, you won't make it. Go on, get up and go to class, get smart”.
> 
> “Do you have to be this aggressive?” he answered, sitting up in his bed and wiping the water from his face.
> 
> “You promised me, don't you remember?” The blonde, blue-eyed girl sat down at the foot of the bed, leaned her head, rested the palm of her hand on the mattress and leaned the rest of her body, with that posture, you could see how thin she really was. “I need a manager and you said you'd be it, come on, we're all waiting to have you as soon as possible, remember we're going to be a super famous band. Besides,” she pointed out with the index, “only if you become our manager, I could consider the idea of being a couple".

He shook his head, he didn't want to be reliving those memories, not when there were more people around him. He had already arrived at the school, he didn't want to be seen crying.

“Anyway," he muttered, "I never was”.

He left those advanced classes when he moved to his current school, why did he want to have those weekend classes if he could have them during the week? He had better use of that time to practice the piano, because the guitar seemed very basic to him and practicing the violin would be very expensive, but the piano was the same as what he would have to pay for with that advanced school. He had gotten used to keeping busy on the weekends, and for a year now being at home only made him miserable, he could stand half a Sunday, but not Saturday or Sunday completely, with the piano lessons, he even felt that he was releasing everything that at the time he might have been harboring, all those sad and annoying feelings, especially annoying ones.

He clicked his tongue. Why does he always have to think about  _ her _ ? He's the only one who gets upset. Did she feel this sad when she decided to leave him too? She walked away, left him, and he still can't let go of the feelings he has for her. Why is he the only one who suffers? Does he deserve it? Of course not, but if she was feeling it, it must have meant something.

“I'm a jerk," he says to himself as he sits at his desk away from math classes, "it was all my fault”.

" _ Was I a reason in her decision to leave me _ ," he thought, knowing he would have no answer.

The bell rings, Bubbles' class takes to the courts. At the sight of it, he frowned and turned his attention to his own class.

**.  
.**

That Monday, when he started teaching Bubbles to play the guitar, he wanted to concentrate on it alone. For an hour, he taught her the notes, to his surprise, she turned out to be very good with her finger position. He passed her a basic tablature to keep her practicing the notes. There was not much contact, in fact, at no time did he even let their knees brush against each other. He kept her from coming in that way at all times. He thought they would only stay together on Mondays, however, Bubbles asked if they could see each other on Wednesdays as well. He agreed, not counting on having her near him in art classes and during breaks. She seemed to be always looking for him, she ended up hitting him every free moment she had, at first it bothered him, but then he was the one who got restless if he didn't see her.

But there was one drawback. The hair color, the eye color, much of Bubbles reminded him of her, and it bothered him to think about it. It bothers him not because it seemed to be a reminder of their failed love life, but because, despite the existence of a physical resemblance between the two, in matters of personality they were different.

“Boomer!” he heard Bubbles greeting him, carrying her brown backpack and her guitar in its respective bag.

He was already teaching her for three weeks, they sat in the garden when they left school, so that when the time came they didn't have to walk together when they left, and he avoided having her by his side for a long time.

“Were you practicing the song I told you about?” he asked the girl, who nodded.

“It's the song that most people start with, isn't it?” said Bubbles, accompanied by a laugh. “I think I'm getting there”.

“I'll let you play it alone before we go on”.

Not that their interactions had much to do with meeting each other, in itself, Boomer knew that there was a reason why Bubbles approached him, not for anything she spoke to him and asked him to teach her how to play guitar, being sure that one of her sisters played it too, but he was strong about keeping the shell that he had built around him intact, while Bubbles demonstrated that she didn't want to accept the existence of that shell and if it was necessary to use a pick, she would do it, but she seemed very motivated about breaking it. Maybe Boomer did want to let her in, but he was afraid that history would repeat itself.

Boomer is not one of those that, when he finds someone that calls his attention, he opens up to them. He will never do it because he doesn't have enough initiative to do so. It could be that, if the possibility exists, Bubbles will wake up a greater interest in him for her. He wasn't sure he wanted to do it, but he wasn't sure he didn't want to either. Bubbles' laughter at her alleged clumsiness in changing the notes brought him out of his little trance, he returned his attention to the notes of the Bob Dylan song he had taught her, he saw the skill she was gradually releasing, even though the song was not so difficult once the right rhythm was found. He saw her smile when she played, he thought immediately that she was pretty, very pretty, besides she seemed to be an attentive girl with respect to what surrounds her, being Boomer at the moment the target of his attention. Boomer allowed himself to think that there was a remote possibility that she would  _ call his attention _ , he considered that it was too early to say that he liked her, he didn't know her very much, but what he did know... Ok, he liked her.

Eye color, hair color, a little height, some features, they looked alike... Bubbles and her. She was very thin, her clavicles were too noticeable, her legs also showed it, while Bubbles, was also thin, although not as much as she, in addition, Bubbles had full cheeks, that gave more grace to her smile and caused some Boomer's desire to tighten them.Bubbles had slightly thinner features, although her skin tone was similar, Bubbles kept her cheeks pink, while her most characteristic feature was her dark circles under her eyes. Physically they could have a certain resemblance, notorious for those who knew both of them, however, the most important difference between them was in the attitudinal aspect: Bubbles was tender and attentive, she would compliment him on the way she played the guitar, he remembers that several times she told him "you should have a band". He couldn't help but compare it with her and, consequently, curse everyone for agreeing with  _ her  _ as long as he carried her memory with him. Boomer was a shut-in.

“There's something I've been asking myself for a few days now," said Bubbles, stopping playing, "Boomer was already staring at it. Why do you have your guitar in such a state?”

Boomer looked at his guitar and then hers, evidently his was more worn and had several hits, while Bubbles' was new, you could tell it was no more than a year old or, if it was older, it had very few uses.

“I've had it for years, I've spent a lot of time with it. It's the only one I have, too”.

“Have you thought about changing it?”

“With what money?”

“What if you play to make money? Several people stand outside of subway stations, or in specific public places and make money that way.If the police come, you run away,” she laughed.

The wind started to blow, Boomer, out of his backpack, took out his gray hat and put it on, turned to look at the time on the school clock, it was time to leave rehearsal that Wednesday. Bubbles started putting her guitar away, Boomer did the same.

“It might be a good idea," he answers at the end. “I hadn't thought about it”.

“How could you not?”

“I just didn't do it, I didn't think I could do something like that”.

“ _ You have talent, _ " she assured him, taking her guitar and strapping her school bag to her back, "you just have to exploit it”.

He couldn't help but look at her with a certain fear when she said that, especially when she smiled at him so warmly.

> " _ Look, if you don't have money, I don't have to be your girlfriend, _ " he couldn't help but remember those words from  _ her _ .  _ She  _ never encouraged him to play guitar, even though  _ she  _ knew he could do it.

“Uff!” complained Bubbles. “Come on, it's starting to get really cold”.

Boomer anchored his backpack, then picked up his guitar and walked along with it, his brothers should be there by now. He looked at her sideways, her nose was starting to turn red from the cold, even though they were both wearing school vests. He looked at the girl's guitar and then at her face. Bubbles, really, was kinder than you might think, not knowing him at all, asked him for help and now tried to encourage him about making money by playing.

“I'm going that way,” she points the way up, “I wait for the bus there,” first time, of all this time, that she tells him. “See you tomorrow”.

“Hey, wait," he grabs her arm with his free hand, "it's cold," he says.

“Yes," she replies, "that's why I'm going to walk fast so I don't have to wait for the bus for so long”.

“I didn't mean it like that”.

“What?”

He left his guitar on the floor, took off his hat and put it on her.

“I'll see you tomorrow," he took his guitar and walked downstairs, he could already see his brothers.

He wanted to look back, but wished to spare himself the unnecessary questioning of Brick and Butch, better get on with it. "How ironic is that," he said in reference to the last thing he thought. Now, he had a feeling inside him that made him uneasy. His brothers saw him, Butch took the guitar away from him to carry it around, while Brick was the one pulling on him to pass him the backpack, so he had to give it up or he wouldn't stop bothering him with it.

" _ You have talent, you just have to exploit it _ " versus " _ Look, if you don't have money, I don't have to be your girlfriend _ ”.

How could he deal with that, if they have almost the same face? Tragic, more than he would like it to be.


	3. O2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ねぇ... ぼくはこの街でどんな明日を探せばいいの
> 
> Tell me, what kind of tomorrow should I look for in this city?

She finished playing Bob Dylan's song, after having practiced so much, she was able to play it without so many pauses and with the least amount of mistakes, only three. She knew that Boomer was looking at her, however, she was struck by the kind of look he had. If at first it was indifferent and then it evolved to a more "attentive" look and to her guitar, since he was focused on teaching her, currently Boomer's gaze was only for her face, every time she looked at him out of the corner of her eye she realized that his eyes were fixed on her face. Bubbles wanted to know why he was doing that, but she didn't dare to ask, she wanted to think he was doing it just "because", however, she knew there was no such thing as "because".

“So, how was I?” Boomer looked into her eyes, she realized that they didn't look as empty as they had at first, although they were still empty.

“Very good, I can tell you've been practicing”.

“I have a good teacher”.

“Okay," he looked back at the clock, "it's time”.

“Before we say goodbye," she said as Boomer began to put away his guitar, "could we get together another time?”

“Don't you think twice a week is enough?”

“Yeah, it's just, what if we had another time? I mean…”

“You mean during breaks?” He interrupts.

“Yes... Sure! As long as you don't have any objections”.

Boomer looked at her guitar, then at her face and finally at the exit. It took him a couple of seconds to give his answer, but he decided to nod yes.

“Lunch break seems to be the longest, do you think so there?”

“Yes!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, Boomer arched an eyebrow. “I mean, yes, that's fine with me”.

And Boomer chuckled, it wasn't a laugh, to say it resembled a lazy chuckle wasn't right either, it was a simple chuckle. The enthusiastic smile on Bubbles' face faded and a surprised expression came over her face. It was the first time she had ever seen that side of Boomer. He averted his gaze to the exit, then to the overcast sky.

“Maybe we could even have these practices inside some classroom at school, so we're sheltered from the cold”.

She nodded slightly, picked up her guitar and her bag, Boomer waited for her and looked at her curiously when she pulled out the hat he had handed her a couple of days ago.

“It seems to fit you better than me," he says, but she holds it out to him.

“I was going to give it back to you”.

“Did you bring your own?”

“No…”

“Then I'll lend it to you again”.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes," Boomer nods and unzips his backpack, "I brought another one”.

They both put on their hats, Bubbles had a thin strand of hair left by her right eye, she seemed to be unaware of it. Boomer reached out and arranged it, Bubbles let her hair be combed. They stood there for a second enjoying that moment, when they heard two boys call out to Boomer, they were his brothers.

“See you tomorrow," he said.

**.  
.**

She carefully replaced the strings of her guitar, took care to stretch them, tightened them and, finally, cut off what was left over. She wiped it with a cloth to remove any trace of dust, then began to tune it. Her sisters came into her room, but she ignored them, she didn't listen to what they were saying, she just responded with an "mh-mm", she was too focused on hitting the perfect note on each string to pay attention to what they were saying. It wasn't until she heard her name that she raised her head and exchanged glances with her sisters.

“Boomer was the one who taught you to change strings?” Blossom spoke up.

“No," Bubbles replied, "I already knew how it was done”.

“You're very interested in this guitar playing thing," Buttercup observed.

“Yes," she put the instrument aside and stood up. “Anyway, I'm going to take a shower”.

“Is your interest in guitar just for Boomer?” Buttercup asked.

“Maybe," she confesses, "would there be a problem?”

“Maybe," said Blossom this time, "I mean, is it mutual?”

“No way," Bubbles scoffed, "it's all one-sided”.

“Are you sure?” Buttercup narrowed her eyes. “I'd say...”

“Boomer," Bubbles interrupted Buttercup, "looks at me in pain," she sighed, "as if seeing me is hurting him, but he wants to do it anyway. Doesn't make sense, does it?” they both slowly shook their heads. “I figured... That's how it works”.

**.  
.**

Bubbles approaches with the guitar behind her, Boomer was waiting for her where they agreed: on the rooftop. Next to him she saw his guitar, as well as a bag where, she assumed, he had brought his food. She approached quietly, there was no need to make a fuss to announce her arrival, she knew Boomer would notice her sooner or later, and if she said it that way it was because she was seeing him writing something down in the notebook he always carried with him. He only turned his eyes towards her to close his notebook and leave it on top of his lunch bag. Bubbles smiled slightly.

That practice was quiet, Boomer was not one to divert the topic of conversation, in fact, when Bubbles tried to talk to him about some class or anecdote, the conversation did not extend beyond "oh", " I see", only once did he ask her a question to know more, when she told him that Buttercup turned her lunch tray over her PE uniform, he asked her "And what did she do?", she only answered that Buttercup

This time, Bubbles asked him to change the song, he said yes, no problem, but first she should play Bob Dylan's song perfectly, as she is still making mistakes. She didn't take the comment badly, she didn't have to, however, it brought her some joy to know that Boomer had agreed, indirectly, to spend more time with her. She smiled, Boomer noticed but said nothing.

“From the beginning, before the bell rings," he told her and Bubbles nodded.

That same day, in the afternoon, they made the back stairs of the library their new place. Having a high wall, they were protected from the cold, Bubbles also liked being there because they could walk together to the exit, which meant more time in his company. She felt that she was getting closer and closer to Boomer, even though he didn't seem to change his attitude much, she did notice that he had a different vibe when they were together. They share a little joke about the beanie.

“Now it looks like the hat has become your property," he said.

“What do you mean?” Bubbles put it on her head and fixed her hair.

“That now it smells like your perfume, it's definitely yours," he laughed lightly, she laughed lightly too.

They grabbed their things and walked towards the exit. As always she was the one who took the reins of the conversation, Boomer was still a quiet guy, very reserved. Did it bother him to be the one talking 92% of the conversation? He'd gotten used to it. She was telling him what happened in her biology class with her refusal to dissect a toad, when she stumbled and realized that her shoes had come untied.

“Hold on," Bubbles said, set her guitar down beside her and crouched down.

Boomer looked at her intently, but then diverted his attention to the courts that were beginning to be occupied by the sports clubs, track and field and soccer. It was at that moment that Bubbles looked up quickly to see Boomer's profile, whose nose was starting to turn a little red from the cold that was being felt at that time. He was humming, as she didn't know much about music she had a hard time deciding if she heard him in tune or not, but she thought she did; she saw that he opened his mouth for a few moments just to take some air. It seemed as if he were reciting eight syllables, the seventh being the most elongated, and it did not have a very happy rhythm, it was rather melancholy; he repeated it four times, but the last time was the clear ending.

She stood up and told him to follow the path. He was surprised not to hear her speak, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye and noticed that she was constantly pressing her lips together, a sign of nervousness and/or discomfort.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked her, "Aren't you going to continue with your biology story?”

“Ah," she replies in a low tone of voice, "that, yes”.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked again.

“That thing you were humming," Boomer frowned, she didn't shut up, "is that a real song? Or is it your own? I don't remember hearing it”.

Getting no answer, Boomer kept his frown on his face and looked away from the door that led to the hallway of the school's central classroom.

“It's your own, isn't it? That's why you don't answer?”

“Don't mind it," came Boomer's reply, Bubbles realized immediately that he was being curt, uncomfortable and annoyed.

“Are you writing a song?” Bubbles continued to ask, picking up his pace, she wanted to get in Boomer's way before he slipped down the hallway. “Is that what you're writing down so much?”

“You're imagining things," again, dry tone.

“You don't have to be ashamed”.

“I'm not ashamed”.

“Why won't you look at me?”

“I don't want to”.

They both stopped walking, she looked at him, but he didn't reciprocate, he went back to looking at the courts.

“My brothers aren't coming today," he says to her surprise, "so I'll accompany you until you take the bus, if you don't mind”.

“I don't mind, I like the idea," she answered, but she didn't sound enthusiastic, the atmosphere didn't allow it.

“Okay”.

In silence, then, they walk towards the exit, then towards the bus stop. They were so silent that both were waiting for something to happen, for the other to say something, because neither dared to speak. The cold wind wrapped around the thread that, in a moment, Bubbles thought bound them together. She didn't regret asking about what he was humming about, but she did regret insisting, after noticing that he didn't want to talk about it. He leaned a little toward the street to see if any transportation was coming: nothing, he snorted a little. Boomer took a seat and motioned for her to sit next to him. She noticed that as soon as they made eye contact, he sort of pouted and broke the moment.

" _Why are you looking at me like that?_ " she wanted to ask, but maybe that ended up killing whatever they had more.

“Boomer," she spoke, he stopped looking at the stop sign to look down the street, "I'm sorry".

“No," he answered quickly, "don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong. Let's leave it at that”.

He stood up and stared at the road, as he had left his guitar leaning against the seats at the bus stop, he put his hands in the pockets of his uniform pants. Bubbles rubbed her hands together and placed them between her knees, sighing heavily and expansively.

“I want to talk to you about something," she said, "if you want to cover your ears and pretend you're not listening”.

Boomer arched an eyebrow, then frowned and tilted his head.

“The melody you hummed," she paused a moment to smile a delicate smile, "it's pretty, very pretty”.

He did not answer her, he looked back to the road and an asymmetrical smile appeared on his face. She closed her eyes for a couple of seconds and nodded slightly when she opened them again.

“Your ride is coming," she stood up quickly and grabbed her things. See you tomorrow at school.

“Bye," Bubbles says to him as he walks down the street to request transportation, "See you”.

“By the way," the bus had already stopped and was opening its doors, "thanks for your comment about my melody”.

Bubbles didn't get a chance to answer him, Boomer had already turned around and was heading down the route he had to take to get home. She got on as fast as she could, so she could see him walking down the street. When she did, she noticed that he was standing on the corner, looking at her and waving goodbye.

**.  
.**

" _Remember when we used to walk to the crappy academy together? The one I wanted so much to belong to, tell me, do you remember?_ ", Boomer thought as he was on his way to his piano academy.

He no longer took the same route, but the morning smell was still the same, Saturdays had that particular aroma, one of rest, they also had a particular sound, where the flow of vehicles was diminished compared to weekdays. Saturdays had a special aura, a special vibe, but now they were charged with a loneliness that only he could understand.

> "You're so cute," she would say. You're my ideal type of boyfriend."
> 
> "But you already have a boyfriend," he replied, stroking the back of his own neck, "don't tell me such things when you're aware that…”
> 
> “When you become successful," she interrupted him, stepping forward a little, "be sure we'll be boyfriend and girlfriend. Only then will we be”.

_Successful_ , he had been following the road to success ever since she told him she wanted someone like that, that only then would they be sweethearts. As if he didn't have some motive beyond that. He was really looking forward to having her by his side, he would do anything to make that happen. He walked through the door of his piano academy, carrying with him and on his back, his guitar. Anyone who saw him might be curious about it, but hey, who says that by studying piano you can't be proficient with another instrument?

The practice rooms were filling up, they only had the capacity for one piano, therefore only one person per room, being a total of ten. For an hour and a half he had to practice the score he had been assigned or chosen, and at the end of each practice, the ten students presented their progress to the rest of the tutors in charge. The tune assigned to him was Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata," however, he could not play it in the same way as was expected of the beginning students who were also assigned to it. "Give it your personal touch, Jojo," the balding man with thick glasses who was in charge of him told him. "I'm sure you can give it your own tune."

Once his turn came, he alone on the stage, the piano awaited him, only a music stand was there besides them, however, it held his name "Boomer Jojo; tutor Matheo Ferragni." He rubbed his hands together and took a seat, he ran the extension of his fingers over the horizontal edge under the keys. The first note he played was a "C", he did that to get into the mood, after that he stretched his fingers, warmed them up with a quick hand rub and started. He played it a little slower than the melody itself was already. As he played he imagined the rain, wetting him, but it was a gentle, kind rain, though it was cold, very cold. He felt the wind playing with his blond hair, which also passed through his fingers. He transformed a melancholy, sad sonata of another into one of his own, even if he kept the key of "C sharp minor."

As the melody neared the end, he felt the rain he had imagined grow heavier, unchecked, as if there were a storm raging, he pursed his lips and frowned slightly. He told himself to calm down, the rain was not real, it was all in his mind, but he had already caught the atmosphere and he was sure he felt heavy among those present, only classmates and other tutors, among the latter, he was sure he would be crying, he was good at crying. By playing he was able to understand more precisely the feelings that accompanied the creation of the sonata, just as he, putting his own feelings into it, managed to create a different melody even if the same notes were played.

Never had "Moonlight Sonata" or "Piano Sonata No. 14" seemed so cold and sad to him. When he finished playing the piece, he stood up, bowed which was applauded by his peers and tutors, he looked with his eyes for his bald professor who, as he guessed, was crying, he looked at the empty seat next to him and imagined _her_ , the slim blue-eyed blonde applauding him. An image that would never come, she would make a thousand and one excuses to pass on seeing him play, or if she went, it would be to tell him:

> "Why would you want to get into music? I told you, you have to be my manager".

At the end of the lessons, his tutor congratulated him, the others also remarked that Boomer's work had been in accordance with the expectations placed on him. He accepted the congratulations responding with a sober "thank you", he had no intention of continuing the conversations, he wanted to leave, despite the fact that after him two other boys played their melodies, more cheerful and lively, he still felt that it was raining on him.

“You have a future in music”.

He couldn't see who, exactly, was the tutor who told him that, when he turned to look at them, the tutors were walking away from him. He averted his gaze to the floor and walked to the room where he had been practicing in the first instance, he was going to get his things. He anchored his guitar bag on his back, it seemed as if the words of that teacher came back to his head and the idea he had harbored some time ago, that of forming a band, was repeating in his head again. He understood that they were referring to "classical music", however, Boomer had another ambition, he wanted to have a band, and, in fact, he was bored with classical music, he wanted to be the artist, the one who created music, but not precisely piano music.

He left the academy, he saw his classmates leaving together. "Of course", he thought, "they are friends, after all".

He didn't feel like going home yet, he thought about going for a snack, it had been a while since the waffle store was enticing him to consume there. He sat down at the counter, ordered a strawberry and blackberry one, accompanied by a mint-infused lemonade to pass the sweet taste. His guitar by his side was his only company, the truth is that in some previous time he would be fine, now that he was not at home he missed the topics of conversation that Bubbles proposed, or imposed. It seemed that he had been getting used to the girl's company, that scared him a little, because he didn't want her to leave like _her_ too.

He finished eating, but not drinking. He stood up and took the bottle of lemonade, he would take it with him for the road, before going home he wanted to go to Townsville Central Park, he wanted to see if there were people out there having fun as it was getting close to lunch time, and truth be told he also wanted to see if he could find anyone playing or singing. It was common to see them, especially on weekends, many couples found it romantic to spend time watching amateur musicians earning some money while they played.

He went around the artificial lake, past the bike paths, the chess tables, the benches, the children's games. It wasn't that there were few people, it was just that there were no musicians and that made him nervous. What if he started to play? It gave him "thing", he preferred to stay watching, at least for that moment. He sat down on one of the benches, his guitar by his side, he looked at the sky that had the presence of some clouds. The sun gave some warmth, which was welcome considering that it was a bit windy. If the temperatures were dropping, why were there so many people outside? It's not like we were recovering from a pandemic.

“Do you play?”

He opened his eyes and lowered his head, blinking repeatedly until he managed to focus on the face of the boy in front of him, carrying a bag in which he was undoubtedly carrying a bass guitar. Boomer swallowed saliva, did not look away from the boy, white tennis shoes, jeans somewhat baggy and intentionally torn at the knees, a gray sweatshirt that was too big for him, it was obvious that it was not his size, short hair and dark color that contrasted with his tanned skin and his face full of freckles.

“Are you there?” he spoke again.

“Yes, I play," Boomer answered, "why?”

The boy looked around, looking for someone, sighed and looked back at Boomer.

“I was going to practice with the guys in my band, why don't you play something in the meantime? You look like you're waiting for someone too”.

“Not really, I was just hanging out by myself”.

“Do I disturb you?”

“No”.

“So?”

The boy takes a seat next to him, Boomer purses his lips, nods slowly and reaches into his guitar bag to pull it out. He hesitates for a moment, tests the tuning of the strings, everything was in order. She saw the boy again, he looked expectant. He took a deep breath of air and started strumming. The boy followed the lively rhythm, they both bobbed their heads, when Boomer opened his mouth, the boy raised both eyebrows.

 _"I'm sittin' here in the boring room_ _  
_ _It's just another rainy sunday afternoon_ _  
_ _I'm wasting my time_ _  
_ _I got nothin' to do_ _  
_ _I'm hangin' around_ _  
_ _I'm waitin' for you_ _  
_ _But nothing ever happens and I wonder"_

People passing by looked sideways, some recognized the song and smiled, others were more indifferent. The boy was the most attentive.

 _"I'm drivin' around in my car_ _  
_ _I'm drivin' too fast_ _  
_ _I'm drivin' too far_ _  
_ _I'd like to change my point of view_ _  
_ _I feel so lonely_ _  
_ _I'm waitin' for you_ _  
_ _But nothing ever happens and I wonder"_

Boomer felt the lyrics of the Fools Garden song, it's not like he was singing his life story either, but in a way, he liked that imagining and putting himself in the shoes of the original performers. It's impossible not to feel that, in one way or another, you're connecting with them.

 _"I wonder how_ _  
_ _I wonder why_ _  
_ _Yesterday you told me 'bout the blue blue sky_ _  
_ _And all that I can see is just a yellow lemon tree_ _  
_ _I'm turnin' my head up and down_ _  
_ _I'm turnin', turnin', turnin', turnin', turnin' around_ _  
_ _And all that I can see is just another lemon tree”_

" _Sing_!" said the boy, Boomer laughed.

At that point, a few couples were watching the scene and enjoying the music, albeit at a considerate distance. Others arrived right at the chorus, they found themselves accompanying along with the " _dap-da da da_ " that followed at the time.

 _"Isolation is not good for me_ _  
_ _Isolation, I don't want to sit on the lemon tree"_

He felt the urge to stop at that moment, hadn't he realized that that part of the lyrics, in particular, really stuck with him? He didn't want to think anymore, he just wanted to finish the song, especially realizing that more people had come to see him and listen to him. He glanced at the boy, he could tell something happened to him but he was more focused on cheering him on by giving applause than anything else. Once he finished, he received applause from the audience of no more than a dozen people, who began to disperse after he had finished.

“That was great," said the freckle-faced boy.

“Thanks," Boomer replied and went on to put away his guitar, "Well, I.... I think I should be going”.

“Do you have a band?” he hastened to ask, taking Boomer by surprise.

“No," he replied.

“I do,” the boy stands up and takes out his cell phone, he seems to be sending a message, he keeps talking but without looking at him, “we need a vocalist and a second guitar,” now he does look at him, “would you like to try yourself as a new member?”

“What?” Boomer was surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Aren't you?”

“I've never been in a band”.

“Me neither, but look at me, I'm in one now”.

There was a silence, the boy felt it went on forever, while Boomer felt it awkward. They sighed at the same time, but neither noticed. The ringing of a notification caught the attention of both, it was the boy's cell phone, who hurried to take it out of his pocket and read the message. He grimaced in disgust, clicked his tongue and shook his head. Boomer wondered where he had seen the boy before.

“These motherfuckers are coming in late," he complains, then looks at Boomer. “Could you at least tell me you'll think about it?”

“Are you seriously asking me to be part of your band?” he couldn't believe it, it sounded like something out of fiction.

“Maybe it's destiny, I was looking for two things, a singer and a guitarist, and I found both in you, maybe you were looking for a band, who knows”.

Another silence, now the boy felt it uncomfortable while Boomer seemed to be thinking about the situation. When he looked at him again, the boy noticed that Boomer's eyes didn't transmit the same vibe as when he had started singing, he was also able to notice that he felt something the moment he performed the song.

“When would I have to perform with the rest of your band?”

“Will you?” Boomer stepped back after the boy asked him that question, he seemed to be too excited about the situation.

“Yes," he answered with some difficulty, "should I bring a composition of my own or can I play anything?”

“Do you have something of your own?”

“I don't know…”

“Give me your contact number," he said suddenly, "I'll discuss it with the rest of the band and get back to you in the afternoon," he held out his cell phone so he could check in, Boomer received it. “By the way, nice to meet you, my name is Mitch," and he held out the same hand to shake.

“I'm Boomer," he returned the gesture and took down his number.

Mitch told him to wait for his message, that he would give it to him, whether it was positive or negative, he wanted to shower him with compliments, and the truth is that he did, while Boomer wanted to go home already since the smell of food was making him hungry. And suddenly, the idea of being part of a band caused a thrill inside him, he imagined himself playing in front of many people, being accompanied by his guitar, his voice and the rest of the members, all sharing the same excitement on stage.

" _This is the chance I need for you to come back to me?_ " he thought.

> "Why would you want to get into music? I told you, you have to be my manager" 

...and he remembered, quickly, _her_ voice inside his head.

**.  
.**

> "The most characteristic thing I have is my intuition, I knew something wasn't right with Boomer, and I would have just walked through his life if you, sister, hadn't happened to form some sort of friendship with that guy. Something was wrong with him and I wanted to know what it was. Our neighbor and my advanced classmate in the school's applied science program had been in the same school as Boomer and his brothers, at one point I overheard her commenting on it. I thought she might be able to tell her something about Boomer, I also remember that, one of the few times I have seen the two interact, they are simple greetings, so the idea was feasible.
> 
> I started the conversation asking her about the weekend projections, something quite rare considering it was just Monday and they were finishing the weekend, she heard vague answers accompanied by the comment just mentioned, I wanted to create atmosphere before anything, it didn't seem right to come and ask her about him. And something surprised me on that occasion: Robin was the one who asked me about Boomer.
> 
> “Is your sister a friend of Boomer's?”
> 
> “What?” I asked.
> 
> “It's just that, the other day, I saw a post on instagram. She uploaded a picture of him playing guitar and put a ‘he's my tutor’ kind of caption, or something like that”.
> 
> “Ah, that,” I sighed. “Yeah, well, I don't know what kind of relationship they have, according to her, he just teaches her how to play guitar”.
> 
> “How interesting," she smiled and sighed, she had an aura of melancholy.
> 
> “Are you alright?”
> 
> “Hmm? Yeah," she nodded, "it's just, I don't know, it makes me happy to know he plays. I thought he wouldn't do it again after Brat left”.
> 
> “Brat? Who is she?”
> 
> “A girl who was always going up and down with Boomer," she licked her lips, as if hesitating whether to go on or not. “Oddly enough, she looks a lot like Bubbles, in features, I mean.It's been over a year since they've been seen together”.
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> Robin shrugged, her expression wistful.
> 
> "Maybe you can get a little idea”.”

There was a silence among the three sisters who were in a corner of their classroom during the end of the day that Tuesday. Buttercup was scowling at Blossom while Bubbles had gone blank for the moment.

"If I didn't tell you before it's because I didn't know how to," said Blossom and sighed worriedly, "Her name is Brat Plutonium, she used to be very attached to Boomer, and the crudest thing is that she looks a lot like you. Be careful, Bubbles, I don't want to think the worst, I don't want to think Boomer is a psychopath”.

The three of them were silent, Bubbles leaned against her desk where her backpack and guitar bag rested. The wind was rushing outside, announcing that it would soon start to rain. Bubbles wanted to ask her why she didn't tell him sooner, but, okay, she would have her reasons, she seemed worried about her meetings with Boomer, she was probably getting in the mood to tell him, at least she didn't wait until she was more in love with him.

“It's my turn to clean the chalk," the blonde said, "then I have practice with Boomer”.

“Will you hang out with him anyway?” Buttercup wondered.

“He hasn't killed anyone, has he?” Bubbles replied a little annoyed, "Maybe that thing about Brat looking like me answers a couple of questions I had stuck in my throat, now that I know the name I'll ask him myself”.

“Bubbles, actually…” -Blossom wanted to keep talking.

“It's my turn to clean the chalk," the blonde interrupted and walked away from her sisters.

Both girls left the classroom at the same time that other of their classmates entered to also fulfill their cleaning duties. Bubbles didn't look at them at any time, just kept her eyes fixed on the chalk and the blackboard. The sisters said their goodbyes, Bubbles gave them a quick smile, but then ignored them. She wanted to believe that everything her sister had told her was just a lie, but she couldn't ignore the signs, and those signs were the looks he was giving her since she met him, as if he didn't believe that was her face. What did Robin mean by "getting a little idea"?

“She' s not going to talk to us, is she?” Buttercup asked Blossom.

“Not until she gets home. Come on, let's go," she grabbed her sister's arm. “Once she gets home, we can ask her if she talked to...”

Blossom stopped talking when she saw Boomer, bringing his guitar strapped to his back and dragging his backpack with one of his hands, approach and stare at them. They felt a sort of shiver, they hadn't realized he was so tall.

“Excuse me," he said, "Bubbles?”

“In the classroom, she was supposed to clean up today," Buttercup replied, pointing to the classroom door.

“Thank you”.

He walked past them and approached the door and saw Bubbles laughing a little, perhaps because of a comment made by one of her classmates. He stood still in the doorway, pressed his lips together, sighed softly and rested his free hand on the door frame, an action that caught the attention of the two sisters who were following the situation.

“ _Bubbs_ ," Boomer's tone seemed a bit more serious than usual, who doesn't know him, doesn't know that's how he talks when he gets upset, or jealous, "do you think you're missing much? Would you rather I help you or wait for you in _our place_?”

Bubbles squeezed the cloth with her hand, her heart was beating a thousand per hour, not only because of what her sister said, not only because of the posture Boomer had at that moment, not only because she felt she would have an anxiety attack because she wanted to clarify everything related to "Brat", it was also because he had called her by a nickname, he called her "Bubbs".

“Give me a moment, I just have to finish with the board," she replied, Boomer nodded and walked into the room. “What are you doing?”

“I'll help you”.

**.  
.**

“You've improved a lot with the song," Boomer says with a small smile on his face, "you've mastered it, ninety-seven percent”.

“Do you think so?” she asks.

“Yes”.

Boomer adjusted his posture and began to play notes at random, as if warming up his fingers. Bubbles rested her arms on her guitar and stared at him. She didn't know how to ask him how to play it to him, she watched his posture carefully, he seemed tense, nervous, that was strange for him, as usually his body seemed to be telling nothing.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him just as Boomer was passing by to do a D7.

“Ah," Boomer looked sideways at her, yes he was nervous, “yes”.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I've been invited to join a band, I have to pass an audition”.

“A band? Oh!” she got excited. “Boomer! A band! Hey!” she frowned pretending to be angry. “When were you planning to tell me?”

“I didn't know how to do it, but I wanted to, I did," he turned to her and sighed.

“And why not?”

“It's just that," he sobbed the back of his neck, "I wanted to know if, considering you have an interest in music, you'd like to accompany me”.

“To your audition?” Bubbles' heart beat faster.

“Yes. You see," he adjusted his position better, "the audition I've been asked to do is a performance in front of an audience. There's a band competition next week Saturday evening, it starts at about six o'clock. It doesn't matter if I win or lose, the band leader wants to see my performance on stage and considers it a good instance, it doesn't matter if I win or lose, I just have to play,” they made eye contact, Bubbles suddenly felt like crying, because Boomer was not looking at her the same way he did, she felt he was looking at someone else, he was looking at her with some affection. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think it's great," she replied.

With that answer they both realized that the situation became tense, incredibly tense. Bubbles broke eye contact, Boomer narrowed his eyes, then frowned and leaned toward her seeking her gaze, one that was not returned.

“Is everything all right? You haven't answered me... _Bubbs_?”

She looked at Boomer, there was interest in him, she felt like crying. Why did she feel like crying? Well, because she was beginning to change her mind about him, and she didn't want to, she didn't want to give her sisters the pleasure of saying that Boomer was an idiot, a void, a boy who should be irrelevant. Now, let's add that he might be an eventual psychopath. No, thanks, she didn't want that.

“Is every...?”

“Answer me something," Bubbles interrupted in a somewhat serious tone of voice, Boomer leaned back. “Will you?”

“Go ahead, ask," he frowned slightly, he was getting suspicious. “But be direct”.

“Okay: do you have a friend whose name is ‘Brat’?” Boomer's eyes widened further, “And she looks like me?”

Shivers. His blood runs cold. Dizziness. Suddenly, Boomer starts to feel sick, silently, shakes his head from side to side, as if he's bobbing it. Bubbles wants to keep her gaze steady, so she doesn't change her face, she fixes her gaze, she waits for an answer, she needs that answer. The moment they make eye contact again, she realizes that Boomer is expressing a kind of look she hasn't seen before: broken.

“Yes," he finally answers her, “to both questions”.

Silence, Bubbles breaks it.

“Does she go to the same school as your siblings?” she asks without looking at him.

“We don't talk," he answered quickly, he had his head down.

“Okay," she nodded annoyed, exaggerating the movement, licked her lips, felt like biting them, but didn't. "Does she like music? I guess you must know that”.

“Yes, she does," he was getting more and more uncomfortable.

“Then what I'm thinking is true," she snorted, "I'm a replacement for your friend, aren't I?” Boomer looked at her in annoyance.

“A replacement for what? You and she are nothing alike”.

“You tell me”.

The conversation seemed to be heating up, both had their brows furrowed and their cheeks were beginning to flush, and not exactly from the cold. The third grade classroom they were in was hosting a fight between the two students, anyone who walked through the door could sense their annoyance.

“All this time," she continued, "during these weeks where you taught me how to play, were you just trying to fill your emptiness? Who do you think you are?”

“You were the one who approached me, it wasn't the other way around. Don't fuck with me, _Utonium_ , don't fuck with me”.

“You were never interested in talking to me for real? That happened, didn't it?”

“Stop," Boomer asked almost in a whisper, which Bubbles ignored.

“You never liked me, did you? You were nice to me just because of your friend”.

“I like you, Brat has nothing to do with it”.

“Why don't you talk to her?”

Just as Bubbles finished asking that question, Boomer started to put his guitar away, he wanted to leave, he wanted to get away from that moment as fast as possible.

“Do you miss talking to Brat? Is that why you talked to me?”

“Please stop”.

“Was it your girlfriend or something?”

“No," his breathing was labored, Bubbles was so preoccupied with her own discomfort that she wasn't realizing what was happening to him.

“What if you ask her to go with you to your audition? Don't you think it's better that she goes and not her _replacement_?”

“You're nobody's replacement”.

“Invite her," Bubbles insisted, she wanted to cry too.

“I can't”.

“Is it because you don't talk?”

“Stop it”.

“Do you know how you can fix that?”

“I don't want to know”.

“Dialoguing, Boomer, that's how you solve problems”.

“Impossible," he says, he was annoyed, but he also sounded distressed, like he was about to break.

Bubbles knew that we are all trunks of secrets, full of secrets, opening them, without the owner's authorization, meant breaking the owner. There are times when Bubbles wished she wasn't so herself, didn't think she was a heroine who could heal everyone, she would like to really understand her role in society. She shouldn't have asked him, because Boomer's answer not only shocked her, it played a trick on him. Boomer's empty gaze that she knew so well, for the first time, was filled, and not with happiness, but with darkness, as if she was looking into a bottomless pit.

“Why is it impossible?” that question caused the heart and enthusiasm that seemed to want to burst forth in Boomer to be completely extinguished.

He stood up, the despair seemed to be gone. It was official, he was done breaking. The cold words came out of his mouth, his relaxed all in voice did nothing but add more tension and negativity to the matter.

“Because Brat _is gone_. She committed suicide a year ago”.

With his things in hand, Boomer turned and ran out of the room. Needless to say, at that moment, Boomer didn't want to be found.


	4. O3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 離れた誰かと誰かがいたこと  
> ただそれだけのはなし
> 
> I had someone I lost, someone who was always there for me.  
> That's my whole story.

Boomer stopped talking to her since that day, what's more, she didn't see him at school anymore, he missed that week's arts class. He left very quickly, when she went out after him she couldn't find him, she didn't know where he might have gone either, she didn't know his address or anything like that. She felt stupid, and until then, she still felt that way. She ignored the repeated times he asked her to stop, kept attacking him, ended up breaking him, and the sparkle that his eyes once had when they looked at her, at that moment, vanished.

No matter how many times she looked for him with her eyes at recess, or on the way out, Boomer was nowhere to be found. Her sisters had found out when she got home, the look on her face showed how sad she was, and not because of her, but because of what she did to Boomer.

"I broke him," Bubbles told them, setting her backpack on the floor, still not taking off her guitar. “I broke Boomer.... If only I hadn't let you poison my head! I hate you! I hate you!"

She knew her sisters were not to blame, they had told her because they were worried about her, however, it was what came out at the time, they understood that she didn't want to talk and that she would need time to tell them what happened. And although Bubbles didn't give many details, she did tell them in a whisper:

"Brat was a friend of his, wasn't she? How would you girls feel if your best friend committed suicide?"

In Boomer's case, he came home late, wasn't answering calls, and when he crossed the threshold, he saw that his brothers were with flashlights as they put on their coats, they were ready to go out looking for him. He came in crying, torn, both brothers left what they had in their hands anywhere, they didn't care, they approached Boomer and didn't ask him anything, they knew he would have that relapse sooner or later, especially if he kept hanging out with Bubbles. It wasn't that the girl was bad for him, they thought that if their brother was fine with the girl, well, there were no problems, however, they feared that the memory of Brat would be the breaking point.

He didn't want to eat, he didn't want to talk, he asked them, please, to let him rest. He promised he wouldn't do anything, he just wanted to be alone and feel the warmth of home. They suggested that he take a shower, he had mud, he accepted, but did not communicate with anyone. The next day, he asked not to go to school because he did not feel well.

In the isolation of his home, he enjoyed the silence. His father had drawn the curtains in his room after leaving breakfast on the night table. They asked him to eat, to please do so, he promised to do so, the truth was he was hungry, as the day before his last meal was at lunch, he needed to nourish himself or he would end up with a headache and a lousy mood.

But loneliness and silence are traitors, while you feel you are in a state of peace, it is only a disguise, as their true intentions is to make you think things that you had kept inside you. Feelings, memories and sensations difficult to forget. Since yesterday, Boomer's mind replayed over and over and over again the moment he received a call that lasted forty-nine seconds, between the cries of the girl on the other line, the difficulty to speak and the shock of the news, it became a longer conversation than it should have been.

_"She... Brat... Boomer!” whimpered the girl, he didn't know who it was exactly, it's not like it mattered too much either. “She killed herself... Brat committed suicide!"_

His lip began to tremble, he was still lying on his bed, he covered his eyes with his arm, he bit his lip to stop the trembling, he felt it finally move to the rest of his body. The sensations were fresh, it had only been a year. A phone call changed everything in him, he went from being the boy excited to have a date with the girl he liked so much, but just a day before the meeting, she decides she wants to leave the earthly world. A strong experience, especially because the reasons she was given in the first instance was: _she got tired_.

At that time, Boomer wondered how the relationship between the two had formed. They were just friends, all romantic feelings were completely one-sided, he knew it, boy did he know it. Brat had a boyfriend, she kept telling him that she would break up with the boy once he, Boomer, was successful, but Boomer thought it wasn't real, he didn't trust that it would actually happen, Brat didn't seem to want to get away from that boy, even if she went to visit him every time she had an argument with him.

After taking a shower, he sat on the bed, with only his underwear on and the towel over his wet hair. He sighed heavily, it had been a long time since he had felt like this, it was hard to breathe, he started to get dizzy, possibly he was getting sick, it was to be expected, after all, yesterday he was exposing himself to the cold, he ran, sweated and was outside until almost eight o'clock at night. It's probably the flu. He sighed deeply, once again, and touched his chest, the towel fell, he wanted to cry again, reliving the pain was not good at all, less if he had no one to talk about it with and who he thought he could open up to, was the trigger for the pain he was feeling now.

_"So what I'm thinking is true, I'm a replacement for your friend, right?"_

“No," he answered aloud.

_"All this time, during these weeks where you taught me how to play, were you just trying to fill your emptiness? Who do you think you are?"_

“I wasn't, I wasn't. Bubbles, you're not a replacement for Brat," he looked up at the ceiling but quickly covered his eyes with both hands. You are both very different, neither could replace the other. “Please don't do this to me”.

And he cried again. Imagine how bad he felt, crying and starting with a fever was not pleasant or good for his health. He was sorry to be alone, but he wanted no other company than Brat, but he knew she couldn't come and soothe his pain; he thought it might be Bubbles, it must be Bubbles, but at the moment he didn't want to hear from her. If Bubbles was able to say those words, she would eventually be thinking about other things more. He didn't want to get hurt again, least of all Bubbles.

With the crying starting to turn into the same heartbreaking experience as last night when he got home, he rummaged through his backpack, pulled out the notebook and then the paper he had tucked neatly in there. That paper was the letter Brat left him the day she committed suicide. He knew it by heart, but, every time he read it, he suffered. It was not a particularly long letter, however, it said everything she wanted to dedicate to him, only to him. She apologized to him, told him how much she loved him, and told him that she was no longer good enough to be living, that she didn't feel like it. He pressed the letter against his chest, as he leaned against the wall, bare back, he began to feel worse.

“If only I had acted sooner," he said, his voice cracking, it was very difficult for him to speak considering his state. “Please... Can you come and get me, can you come and give me a second of joy? Can you meet me? Can you forgive me? Can you..., _Bubbles_?”

What Boomer didn't know was that Bubbles, during all those days where he was absent, was looking for him in the stairway next to the library, on the rooftop, everywhere they used to meet and that, every chance she got, she was apologizing to him on the air, since she couldn't say it to his face.

**.  
.**

The following week, Bubbles saw Boomer enter the school. She felt nervous, her legs trembled and in her stomach there was a horrible knot, hard to ignore. Her sisters didn't notice, she preferred it that way, she didn't want to talk about the boy with them, even if they had already apologized, she felt she couldn't help but think about the hatred they generated in her. "How tiring," she thought, she didn't need to keep blaming them, when in fact they were not at all to blame. But she had seen him, now she just had to pluck up her courage and apologize to him accordingly. She noticed he wasn't carrying his guitar, well, it's not like she really expected him to stay and teach her either, after all, he must have been upset, however, she hoped to see him with it, even if it was just to practice for his audition/performance.

At break times, she couldn't go looking for him, her sisters had stuck with her and even to the bathroom they would accompany her. She didn't understand why they had to follow her even at school. Wasn't spending time at home enough? It seemed not, however, at lunchtime, no matter what, she would sneak out and go to the roof of the library. It didn't matter if it was cold, she wanted to believe that Boomer would be there anyway, after all, it was the quietest place away from the school.

She looked at the time on her classroom clock, she wasn't interested in chemistry class, there were only seconds left, she could tell that her classmates were already taking out their lunches or any kind of food, but the teacher didn't seem to be ready to finish the class any time soon. Thus, Bubbles' anxiety grew as the seconds ticked by, she felt her stomach knotting and was more aware of her heartbeat. Until the bell rang. She didn't take her money, she had no intention of eating, at least not for now. She hurried out of the room and made her way to the library. If she got there before him, it was better. She rounded the building, slipped a little as she turned before she started up the stairs, ran, found the iron door closed, it meant Boomer hadn't arrived, so she reached in and ran the pipe that held it shut.

“I got here before him," she sighed once she opened the door and saw the rooftop completely unoccupied.

“Before who?”

The voice she so longed to hear filled her ears, her heart seemed to skip a beat. She spun on her axis, Boomer was coming up the stairs carrying his lunch bag with him, likewise, he kept his hands in the pockets of his uniform pants. He looked at her expressionless, he didn't look as if he felt like smiling at her, and she understood him, because, if it were her, she wouldn't feel like seeing the one who opened such painful memories for her either.

“Boomer," she said, taking a couple of steps back, "long time no see”.

But he didn't say anything, in fact, he passed her by, didn't even look at her. She took his arm, to her surprise, Boomer did not remove it in any way, but let her hold it.

“I…” she began to say with some difficulty, "I want to apolog....”

“The one who needs to apologize," he interrupted her and turned around, Bubbles saw Boomer's eyes crystallize again, "is me, not you. I was a pain in the ass, you didn't know anything and I should have told you in the beginning, that I had someone in my life who looked like you. I wasn't sincere, possibly if I had told you, the comments that came to you from third parties wouldn't have caused you so much impact, because you would have already known,” he took his hands out of his pockets, dropped his bag and took the girl's hands. “Forgive me, Bubbles”.

“I have to apologize, Boomer, because I was foolish, I didn't listen to your insistence, you told me to stop, but I kept spouting garbage, I should have listened to you and..." she broke down. “Forgive me, I didn't mean to break you. I was a fool, very foolish!”

Boomer didn't like the image of Bubbles crying at all, he pulled her hands and put his arms around her, placing her head between his shoulder and neck. She returned his embrace. He stroked her head as he felt her struggle not to cry even harder. After a couple of minutes, Bubbles was more relaxed, yet she wouldn't let go; it's not as if he had any intention of breaking the embrace either. Noticing that she wasn't speaking, he decided to speak.

“The invitation to my audition-presentation still stands”.

“Do you really want me to come?”

“Yes, I really do”.

“Then I'll go, but first," she separates a little, just enough so that they can see each other's faces, "why me?”

“You approached me with good intentions, I was a closed-minded piece of shit, but, I don't know, I feel good with you, I like spending time by your side and, since you've been cheering me up every _class_ we've had, I thought you should be there, that I wanted you there”.

“Do you already know what you're going to play?”

“I have a rhythm, but I don't have any lyrics”.

“Is the rhythm the same one you were humming? Is it that melody?”

Boomer smiled at her, she looked very tender even with her eyes shining due to the crying and the reddish tone that made an incredible contrast with her white skin.

“That melody, yes”.

“Then, if you have the melody, you've got halfway won”.

“The lyrics must be the most important thing, the problem is that I can't think of anything”.

They parted the moment Bubbles' stomach creaked with hunger. Boomer offered her half of his sandwich, she accepted, and they settled down near the railings that protected the rooftop in case of any accidents. After a few comments regarding the food, Bubbles wanted to pick up the topic of conversation they had been having earlier: the lyrics of the song.

“You don't even have any sort of idea of what you want to sing?” she asked.

“It's complicated, I feel like I have a lot to say, it's just.... I have to pick something, soon," and Bubbles' spotlight came on.

“You have a notebook, you keep writing things down," he nodded, "What do you write down the most?”

“Random phrases, memories," he shrugs, "most of them are Brat's, things I never told her, for example, or feelings that trigger certain memories for me”.

“And why don't you take all those phrases and make them into a song? It can work, too, as a kind of therapy, you'd close the cycle, or would you rather keep that pain for a lifetime?”

“Fuck," Boomer covered his mouth, although it was still possible to see the small crumb left in the corner of his mouth after his last bite, "it might be a very good idea.... Bubbles!” and smiled at her, he looked like a completely different Boomer. “That's a great idea!”

Bubbles wanted to cry again, not only because she was seeing a side of Boomer that she thought she would never see again, especially after what had happened between them, but because the glow he had lost was back, and with greater intensity.

**.  
.**

Boomer and Bubbles suspended their practices, she had told him to prioritize his own rehearsal, they agreed only to get together during breaks and lunch to talk, about whatever, rather, whatever came out of her mouth, since she was the one who talked the most.

Until Saturday came, the whole morning was fraught with nervousness, however, as the afternoon progressed, anxiety gripped Bubbles, and it got worse as she thought about how Boomer would be doing. She wanted to believe that she was absorbing it all, she would rather feel it than have Boomer feel it and have his presentation go badly. At the thought of him, she was reassured, strangely, she felt reassurance that she was going to do well, and Boomer..., well, he _is_ Boomer.

She arrived an hour early, just as Boomer asked her to do, she couldn't go backstage, it was to be expected, in any case, is that any stranger could come in and say, "I'm a friend of x artist, can I come in?" So she had to call him, Boomer went out looking for her and they let her in. She felt a little out of place, she looked at Boomer's attire, a simple black sleeveless t-shirt with a print of "The 1975", he was also wearing jeans that looked new, his blond hair was barely visible through the white cap he wore, however, it was not part of his attire, as he took it off instantly commenting that it was too hot to wear it, but somehow backstage the air was cold. She wondered if he must have meant, in that way, that he was cool.

“You could have told me it was casual," she complained and pointed to her wine-colored dress with white flowers, as well as mustard-colored stockings and the unmistakable mary-jane.

“You look very pretty like that," Boomer points out, "your white sweater gives it a different look”.

“Don't tease me”.

“I'm not!” and he covered his mouth as he leaned on the edge of the table where he had his backpack.

“You want to laugh, Boomer!”

They laughed a little, she pretended to be annoyed, as he pressed his palms together and apologized to her. She gave him the advice that could always be given in that situation, or in any situation involving a public presentation, in fact, Bubbles left off by telling him:

“I'll tell you the same thing I tell my friends before any presentation”.

She told him that he will do well, that he is great, however, she noticed that Boomer seemed uneasy, she stared at him, and he averted his gaze.

“Is everything...?”

“I have the lyrics," he interrupted her, sighed after speaking and closed his eyes tightly. “But I'm afraid”.

“Afraid of what?” she leaned a little towards him, who didn't open his eyes at any moment.

“That the words won't come out..... It's just me on stage, me and my guitar”.

“Don't you have any stage experience? Don't you play the piano?”

“It's not the same, because, although I express feelings and my own versions of the pieces, they are still not mine,” he opened his eyes, they stared at each other, none of them wanted to blink, “but now, I'll be playing something that is completely mine, something I never thought…” he looked down. “Something I never wanted to tell”.

“What are you really afraid of?”

Boomer kept silent, Bubbles got scared as she was seeing him shaking again like the time when their friendship almost went completely to shit.

“Do you think…” he said in a soft tone of voice, then looked up. “Do you think she heard me?”

Bubbles couldn't help but be moved by the image she was seeing, a vulnerable Boomer who looked like he was on the verge of tears. It wasn't a scene everyone would like to see, because being in that moment, you don't know how to act. If he was confessing that to her, it was because he expected a word of encouragement, because he trusted her, and Bubbles wanted to show her that she was with him. Even if words were enough, she resorted to a foolproof gesture, she approached him and hugged him. It took Boomer a while to react to the hug, but once he did, he sighed, thus showing how much he had longed for that show of support. Bubbles was surprised that he applied a little more intensity to it, it made her smile.

“She'll listen to you, I'm sure, wherever she is, she'll realize that everything you have to say is just for her, that this is dedicated to her”.

“Thank you for coming”.

“Thank you for inviting me”.

They separated a little, they wanted to look each other in the face. Bubbles smiled warmly at him and then placed a small kiss on his forehead. It was time to leave him alone, she wanted to acclimatize herself in the audience, besides, her sisters had also attended, just as busybodies, she hadn't invited them, she was sure they wanted to go just to gossip, curious and to see, with their own eyes, that Boomer really had talent, because no matter how many times Bubbles told them that Boomer was great, they were still biased with him, all because they didn't trust him after they found out what happened with Brat; anyway, she understood them. .. a little.

“I'm going to look for you in the audience," Boomer assured her.

“What? How?”

“I don't know how, but I will”.

“The lights won't bother you?”

“Of course they will," he sighed as he smiled a little warmly at her, "nevertheless," he leaned a little closer to her, "I will. If you see me smiling at the audience, it means I did find you”.

**.  
.**

In the audience, with her sisters, she waited for the show to start. Boomer was performing in third place, being a soloist and having only one song, he was placed in the first three shows. Her sisters were commenting on the space, a municipal gymnasium, and, although the ventilation didn't seem very good, you could breathe very well. From a distance, and among a crowd of boys and girls with varied styles of dress, at which point she found she wasn't so "out of the loop", she could see Boomer's brothers, they dressed similar to him only Butch wore a long sleeved black t-shirt, while Brick wore a short sleeved pink one. They saw her, she could tell it took them a while to realize it was her, when they did, Butch was the one who raised and waved his arm, she reciprocated the gesture. They had never spoken, she couldn't consider a "hello" and "goodbye" as a conversation, while they had stopped going for Boomer at school, after their "conflict", they went for him again.

The first performance kicked off, a band of three girls, all egirls, performed a song of their own in a slightly alternative style that played with pop and, it seemed, Asian culture. The audience was animated, Bubbles liked the song, looked at her sisters and saw that they were indifferent. After that performance, the lights came back on, it was time for the artist to change. Bubbles was going to get closer and closer to the stage until she was next to Boomer's brothers, so she had more chances to appreciate the boy's figure, besides, she wanted him to see her. Would it feel a special emotion for the artist to look at you when he was on stage?

“Oh!" she heard her sister Buttercup exclaim and turned to see her, she looked excited, fixed her bangs and spoke again. “It's Mitch!” She raised her arm and shook it a little. “Mitch!”

Mitch appeared on the scene, black pants and a red sweatshirt. When he heard his name, he looked around for the broadcaster and, when he saw her, he gave her a friendly smile and approached her. Anyone could tell that the other two boys behind him, one tall and thin with tousled dark hair and the other shorter, with long hair tied in a braid, were accompanying him, however, they kept their distance, as if they were waiting for someone else.

“What are you doing here, Buttercup?” asked Mitch. “Hello, Blossom. Oh! Well, I'm not surprised at you, Bubbles," he approached her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You've been accompanying Boomer during this period, what do you think the result would be?”

“From the competition or the audition?” she asked.

“The audition," he clicked his tongue, "needless to say, the competition is lost, you usually have to submit three songs for you to fight for a spot”.

“Oh, well, that being the case, I hope you appreciate all of Boomer's hard work…”

“Excuse me," interjected a confused Buttercup, "but do you know each other? And why are you talking about Boomer?”

“Right, I didn't tell you," said Mitch. “No, we don't know each other but Boomer is, shall we say, our mutual friend. He's told me a lot about your sister and," he looks at her, "come on, I know her because she's your sister. Now, we are talking about Boomer because today's presentation of him defines whether or not he joins our band. I had already told you that I needed another member”.

“Yes, but you said you needed a guitarist and a singer. Boomer is the guitarist, is that it?”

“You've heard him play, haven't you?” asks Mitch, to which both Buttercup and Bubbles nod, although Bubbles passes in disguise. “I've heard him sing. He's phenomenal”.

“No shit," said Blossom, "he doesn't really sing”.

“Didn't you hear me? I heard him!” he looked at Bubbles. “You too, I guess”.

“Not really, but I did hear his melody," replied the blonde.

Once the second group, mixed with a somewhat gothic style, finished and the lights came back on, she took advantage of Mitch's constant talking, distracting her sisters, and began to sneak through the crowd to reach the Boomer brothers.

“How do you do," Butch said.

“Nice to see you," Bubbles replied.

“You saw him earlier, didn't you?” Brick asked, to which Bubbles nodded. “How did you find him?”

“Nervous, obviously, but I got the feeling he was worried about something else, not even failing the audition," said Bubbles and shrugged. “You can get the idea, can't you?”

“Thank you," said Brick, "for accompanying our brother”.

“I'd like to apologize," she moved to stand in front of the boys who looked at her curiously, "I know he had a relapse and it was my fault”.

"Don't look for blame," Butch asked and smiled slightly, "it's not worth it. Things happened in a certain way and it helped both of you, since you were able to realize your own mistakes”.

“If we may tell you," said Brick, "our brother was thinking a lot about you, he told us lots about you and how bad he felt about hiding that information from you," he sighed. “Now that I see you well, you are very similar to Brat, but surely," he pointed to the girl's chest, "from there, you don't look alike at all. It would make sense, then, that Boomer would be so charmed by you”.

Boomer went on stage, the curtains still not lifted, no one knew he was there. With the help of the people working the event, he plugged in a microphone so his guitar could be heard, set up a high chair and took up position. He was to give a thumbs-up sign when he was ready. With the curtain he felt protected, but at the same time, he felt like a prisoner of his own words. After taking a breath of air and exhaling as hard as he could, he signaled. The lights in the audience dimmed, Brick, Butch and Bubbles left their conversation and turned to the stage, the girl's sisters were beginning to fill with expectation while Mitch said goodbye because he had to be with his band mates, by way of judging, as a group, the audition of the possible new member.

The curtains were drawn, the light hit directly in his face, Boomer was unaffected by that. He counted to three and began to play, a soft melody, interspersing the strings resulting in a soft, sad rhythm. This song was by Brat, _for Brat_ , actually. The thought of her made him smile, not only because the image of her face instantly popped into his mind, but because the first memory he had was of when she thought of giving him a kiss so he could tell the world that he had already kissed someone. Of course, a kiss that was repeated on other occasions... He had no time, he had to sing, he opened his mouth and looked at the audience.

 _I miss those blue eyes_ _  
_ _How you kiss me at night_ _  
_ _I miss the way we sleep_

 _Like there's no sunrise_ _  
_ _Like the taste of your smile_ _  
_ _I miss the way we breathe_

Bubbles, who was nervous and anxious in the audience, listened attentively, feeling that she was getting to know that part that Boomer had wanted to hide at all costs. It's funny, because he was speaking from a memory, but that memory seemed to be very much alive in his mind.

 _But I never told you_ _  
_ _What I should have said_

 _No, I never told you_ _  
_ _I just held it in_

As the chorus began, Bubbles felt the need to hold the hands of Boomer's siblings, who welcomed her with pleasure since they were in the same situation. Imagine how Boomer was, he was going to admit publicly what he had been holding back for a year, but the person who was supposed to hear it was no longer in the earthly crowd.

 _And now,_ _  
_ _I miss everything about you_ _  
_ _Can't believe that I still want you_ _  
_ _And after all the things we've been through_ _  
_ _I miss everything about you_ _  
_ _Without you_

He couldn't help but bow his head, he didn't want to cry, not yet at least. He had practiced the song before, but it turned out that, being singing it in front of an audience made him believe that his feelings had more value than he himself had given them. He wouldn't lose focus, he would keep singing, but why did he have to start remembering it so clearly at that moment? Not only that, but why did he have to remember how empty he felt when she was gone? Empty, a hole in his heart, something totally foreign and not his own at all.

 _I see your blue eyes_ _  
_ _Every time I close mine_ _  
_ _You make it hard to see_

 _Where I belong to_ _  
_ _When I'm not around you_ _  
_ _It's like I'm not with me_

He stopped being him when the girl left, and he thought he would never recover, he also thought that the best therapy was to keep what he wanted to say, however, now that he was confessing publicly and paying her a kind of tribute with music, what she liked so much, he began to enjoy the feeling of freedom.

“My goodness," Butch said and covered his eyes with his free hand.

 _But I never told you_ _  
_ _What I should have said_ _  
_ _No, I never told you_ _  
_ _I just held it in_

 _And now,_ _  
_ _I miss everything about you_ _  
_ _Can't believe that I still want you_ _  
_ _And after all the things we've been through_ _  
_ _I miss everything about you_ _  
_ _Without you_

Boomer was not aware of what was happening in the audience. Some were interested in the melody, others were surprised, as was the case with Blossom and Buttercup, who also had not stopped talking during the entire performance, and Mitch and the others, however, made occasional comments about Boomer's good voice and modulation. Now, with those who could understand what the song was about, that it was not simply one dedicated to an ex-girlfriend, tears and sobs accompanied them. Bubbles, Brick and Butch were a sea of tears, there were others who were the same way as them, even without knowing or knowing any details of the story. The song was catching on and resonating with the audience, just as it did with the performer himself.

 _But I never told you_ _  
_ _What I should have said_ _  
_ _No, I never told you_ _  
_ _I just held it in_

 _And now,_ _  
_ _I miss everything about you_ _  
_ _Can't believe that I still want you_ _  
_ _And after all the things we've been through_ __  
_I miss everything about you_   
Without you

With only the final melody left on guitar, he realized he was looking up at the sky. This song was for Brat, he wanted her to hear him and look into his eyes. But the sky? He looked down again at the audience, then at his guitar and smiled to himself. He smiled, even when he just wanted to cry.

" _If I die, I will surely go to Hell. Heaven is only a place for pure and beautiful people like you_ ," he remembered those words of Brat, he bit his lip.

" _You are neither in Heaven, nor in Hell,_ " Boomer thought, as an answer to Brat. " _You are in my mind, in my heart, by my side. Forever._ "

The song ended and the ovation was not long in coming. He smiled, his eyes were watery so the light bothered him more, to top it off, he was getting too hot being so exposed to the spotlight. He looked at the audience, he was going to place a hand on his forehead, but he didn't need to, he was sure it was her, it was Bubbles, so he smiled at her.

Bubbles realized that Boomer's gaze was for her, and if she was a sea of tears just because of the song he had performed seconds ago nothing else, her tears intensified seeing that grateful smile on Boomer's face. He had found her, neither was dreaming. After that performance, they both felt a deep urge to hug each other. One as a sign of support, one as a sign of gratitude, and on both sides as the ultimate sign of the affection they felt for each other at the end of this journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Boomer performs is "I never told you" by Colbie Caillat, I want you to imagine it as if it were Boomer's own composition. I imagined it as a mix of the cover done by Jeff Hendrick and the one done by Sam Hart.
> 
> With that in mind, the part where Boomer hums a melody, in the previous chapter, corresponds to the chorus of the song.


	5. OX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> あなたのすべてがかたちを失くしても永遠に僕の中で生きてくよ  
> さよならできずに歩き出す僕と  
> ずっと一緒に
> 
> Even if your everything loses its appearance, you will always live in my heart.  
> Even if I couldn't say goodbye to you, I try to move on.  
> You will always live with me.

“That was awesome!”

“I really want to cry”.

“What's that guy's name?”

Boomer said goodbye with a little bow and the curtain covered the stage again. He couldn't hear the people's comments exactly, his eyes and everything was focused only on a blonde girl who wouldn't stop crying. When the curtain cut off their eye contact, he sighed, he felt a great relief. He wanted to know that he had done well, he looked at his guitar and bit his lip.

“There's so much I'd like to tell you, Brat," he murmured. “You'd like  _ her  _ a lot”.

In the audience, Bubbles was wiping away her tears, when she looked at Boomer's brothers, she realized they had been crying too. It's just that, well, they knew the story better than she did, it sounds logical that they would understand the words the best. Butch was the first to look up and smile at her.

“It was your idea for him to sing to Brat," he told her, "thank you for that. I imagine you helped him release a lot inside him”.

“Boomer followed his own will," she admitted, her voice still a little shaky. “All the credit, absolutely  _ all  _ of it, goes to him”.

“Bubbles," Brick said, taking her by the shoulders, "please, I know Boomer can cause problems, he always does for us," he joked and laughed a little, "but the truth is, since he started to relate to you, he changed for the better. Yes, you two had a conflict, but you worked it out, didn't you? What I mean is that I hope you can stay together for a long time, friends, whatever. He likes your company”.

Mitch, of the band, was the one who clapped the loudest, his companions nodded and seemed to agree with him. Buttercup and Blossom were witnessing Mitch and company's excitement as they searched the crowd for Bubbles and finally found her, they approached her and noticed she was with the boys who always went to get Boomer at school, her brothers, no doubt, looked alike; they noticed they were incredibly excited, their irritated eyes and red noses showed it all.

“Everything all right, Bubbles?” asked Blossom, not before looking at the Jojo brothers from head to toe.

“Yes," she replied. "Ah, let me introduce them," she cleared her throat and used her right hand to point at them. “Boys, these are my sisters, Blossom and Buttercup. Girls, these are Boomer's brothers, Brick and Butch”.

“Is it over?” asked the redhead, completely ignoring the introduction. “Shall we go now?”

“If you want to go, you can go ahead," Bubbles replied, somewhat annoyed at her sister's snub. “I'll stay until I can see Boomer. The buses run late and if I don't catch one, I'll take a cab”.

Her sisters were not amused by Bubbles' words, they both looked at the boys who had already turned their backs on them.

“We won't let you go alone," Buttercup said.

“She won't be alone," Butch interrupted this time, looking over his shoulder at the girls. “We'll see her home, we won't let anything happen to her”.

“How can we trust you?” questioned the brunette.

“By doing it," Bubbles replied. “If you don't trust them, trust me. I trust them”.

The truth was that neither Blossom nor Buttercup had a good feeling about the kind of relationship she had with Boomer, least of all with those boys who were his brothers. Blossom sighed and folded her arms.

“Well, I'll wait with you then. I don't plan to leave you alone," she looked at the boys, however, her gaze was fixed only on an indifferent Brick, "no offense, it's just that we don't know you guys”.

“Okay," said Bubbles.

A few tense and awkward minutes passed until Brick read a message and told them that Boomer was outside, to go meet him, which they did. Boomer was in a blue colored hoodie, his guitar anchored to his back, the first to hug him was Butch, then Brick, Bubbles noticed Mitch was leaving the venue along with the other guys who came in his company. The three seemed to immerse themselves in a brotherly embrace for a few seconds, until his two brothers left him so he could receive this token of affection and congratulatory gesture from the girl he was waiting for. Boomer held out his hand, Bubbles received him and let herself be pulled until she was wedged against the boy's body. She rested her head on his shoulder, he did the same, God, how comforting they both felt with that hug.

“You did great," she said in a whisper.

“Thank you," he replied in the same tone.

“I hope it went well”.

“I don't care about that now, I'm so happy and it's all thanks to you”.

“Do you think she got the message?”

“I'll worry about that later," he broke off a little and smiled at her. “The good and important thing here now is that, being on stage, seeing you in the audience was my support to keep me on my feet”.

They couldn't enjoy their moment, since there were four people who didn't belong on the scene and their very presence deprived them of saying things they wanted to say and doing things they longed to do. An attrition, a nuisance and a reality. Boomer had to look at his brothers, since he didn't want to look at Bubbles' sisters, he didn't quite like them, and say, "Shall we go?" in view of the fact that they wouldn't let him spend any more time with Bubbles, at least not alone.

"Let's leave Bubbles," Butch said encouragingly, but then said it in such a way that it was hard to decipher at first second, " _ andhersisters _ ”.

They left the compound, Blossom and Buttercup took each other's arm and started leading the way, behind them were Brick and Butch, the first wanted to make sure that the second didn't make any kind of unfortunate comment to Bubbles' sisters, besides, he wanted to make sure that his brother had time alone with her, without the sisters nor Butch interrupting their conversation.

They walked not in silence, but Boomer felt that way, because he was the one talking and commenting to her about what he felt on stage, although he didn't usually extend what he talked about, that is, what he talked about was: "I felt hot", "my legs shook", "the screams and applause felt incredibly loud there on stage", and nothing more. He looked sideways at the girl, he knew something was making her uneasy, that tight-lipped expression and the fidgeting between her fingers gave her away. Boomer sighed and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“You know you can ask me anything, right?”

“Yes," she was quick to answer, "I'm sorry, I'm just looking for the right words”.

“Why the right words?” he laughed a little. “Just ask me”.

“I don't want you to think I have bad intentions”.

“I know you don't”.

“Right,” and she took a big breath, turned to him. “Why did she kill herself?”

The question was more direct than Boomer had thought it would be. He was aware that she would want to know the reason, rather, if she could know the reason. It didn't bother him at all that she asked him, indeed, it made him think she was asking not out of morbid curiosity, but to learn more about his pain and to help him with it.

“I don't know," he answered and wrinkled his nose.

“How?" she wondered. "She didn't even leave you a letter?”

“Yes, I do have a letter, but," he pursed his lips for a second, "it doesn't clarify the reasons for her suicide, it just said how she felt about me and what she expected from me”.

Suddenly, Boomer could see Bubbles tense up. When he was about to ask her what was the reason for this attitude, she went ahead of him and spoke:

“Did she perhaps tell you that she loved you?”

_ "Come on, you're not going to tell me this girl was jealous, is that it?" _ thought Boomer.

“She didn't love me as a  _ lover _ ," he answered and he could see, in her eyes, a certain relief.

“But," Bubbles frowned slightly, "wait. Didn't you mention a kiss? I mean, you kissed? You kissed?”

“Yes, she was my first kiss," he laughed a little as he saw the expression on Bubbles' face. She looked shocked, at the same time, she looked offended. “Simple kisses, with no feelings involved, at least on her part. We were never boyfriend and girlfriend because she constantly rejected me, besides, she had a boyfriend”.

“So she was making out with you while she had a boyfriend. Oh, God!” she covered her mouth and Boomer guffawed. “What are you laughing about?!”

“You don't have to overthink things. She didn't cheat on anyone, okay? Come on, is this conversation going to be about judging who isn't?”

“No”.

“Okay, well, if you want to keep asking questions, go ahead, I'll answer”.

“Do you have any idea why she wanted to do what she did?”

He kept silent for a moment, Brat's death, he doesn't remember when was the last time he talked about it, possibly it was when it happened, since then he hasn't touched the subject, at least not out loud. It is not, either, that he did not want to do it with Bubbles, he had already understood that in her there was no hint of bad intentions or of being a gossip, she really wanted to meet him, sooner or later he would have to touch that subject with her and why not do it just when, literally, he sang it in front of a large audience?

“It is possible that it was a product of her depression. I don't know the cause of it, but I know she had it, even if she never told me directly, I think that's the way a person with depression behaves. Recurrently, when I would tell her that I liked her and wanted to be with her," he smiled slyly, "she would tell me that we would never have a future together, because she wasn't worth it. Unfortunately, she wouldn't let me help her either”.

A silence formed between them; it wasn't awkward, they just didn't know what to say to each other. Sometimes, silences used to be more comforting than words and actions. Being in silence, accompanied by someone you love, was warmer than any hug, a sign of understanding beyond what you could believe. Bubbles looked down the road, the luck was that the gym was close to her house (actually, it was a half hour walk, but that's not too far, really), at the same time, she felt it was a curse of sorts, because the time she would spend with Boomer was going to be limited. For her, she would walk all over Townsville, only if it meant being in his company.

“"I believe," she said, suddenly, "that the memory of Brat, in your heart, should always remain. Not as someone who left of her own accord, I mean, I don't think it does her memory any good for you to blame her for a decision she made. Whether we agree or not, that's the way things are and she was the one who made that painful decision, think, if it hurt you, how much do you think it hurt her? You can't blame yourself either, you are not to blame for anything, you were unconditional with her. You didn't do anything because she said so," she took his hand, that disconcerted Boomer a little, but not in a bad way. “You have to remember her, always, as your first love, not someone to blame or blame yourself for. As your first love and that's it”.

“You know?” Boomer smiled and shook the girl's hand. “With the song I released everything, everything I'd been holding back. I thought the words wouldn't come out, but that song was the representation of what I felt, what I wanted to tell her. I no longer feel I have to live tied to her memory or guilt, but, as you rightly say, I can now remember her as my first love. I feel a relief, I feel light, I don't know how to put it in words... Do you even understand me?”

“Yes”.

“It's strange, because it felt like a new beginning”.

“Brat certainly did, I'm sure she heard what you had to say to her, she wanted you to be happy, to be able to move forward, just the way you wanted to live your life”.

“That's right," Boomer looked up at the sky, the winter stars shining brightly that night. “I'm going to get on with my life, and for that, I need new motivation and new companionship”.

“I assure you that you will," they continued to hold hands, she moved on to caress his hand with her thumb. “Today was great, but don't hold on to the memory and seek to move forward”.

By the time they realized it, they were already two houses down from hers. Bubbles pouted, the walk had become so short, she remembered it longer when she rode public transportation. They both look at each other, their hands still clasped. A heavy sigh in unison and they continued on their way. Brick and Butch stood at a distance while Blossom and Buttercup, without turning to say goodbye, stood at the doorway ready to enter.

“Thank you for everything," Boomer said to her.

“Thank you," Bubbles replied.

They said goodbye with a tight hug, Boomer kissed the girl's cheek and hugged her tightly. She reciprocated the hug, contact that lasted a couple of seconds as they knew they were being watched and not by very kind eyes.

“See you at school”.

“See you," she replied.

Bubbles went on to say goodbye to Boomer's brothers, who were very kind and warm and walked to the door of her house, where her sisters were still waiting for her and looking suspiciously at the trio of boys. Once Bubbles set foot on the step leading to the threshold, they both stepped fully into the house without turning back. Bubbles, out of the corner of her eye, knew they were already walking away, however, she couldn't help but glance at Boomer, her heart pounding as she realized he turned to look at her as well.

**.  
.**

"My dear, adored Boomer:

Possibly you have not wanted to open this letter, is that, well, perhaps you are not going to forgive me for what I did. You are trying to think at what time I am writing this to you, I tell you right away that it is not worth your while at all to try to guess because you will never know.

I don't want to make this too long, it will only bring you pain and I don't want to feel worse because of the harm I may be causing you. You know I love you very much and leaving you is one of the things that hurts me the most, but I can't go on in this world, I'm not worth it. Maybe I just haven't found any help because I haven't looked for it, I wish I could have looked for one..... If you ever felt like shit, please don't lock yourself away, I don't want you to end up like me.

I feel like this doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'm just not feeling well enough to write clearly. These are impulsive decisions, there's even a chance that I might regret it when it's too late.

Don't feel responsible, there is no one to blame but me for not asking for help. You may tell me that I'm on time, but I don't want help anymore. Even I don't understand myself. I'd better go on to thank you for being there for me. Thank you for having been my friend, for having put up with my tantrums and my impulses, for accompanying me to eat when it occurred to me to cross the whole city just for a completely artificial juice, thank you for never having told on me when it occurred to me to get that piercing in that place. Thank you for listening to me when I spoke to you, for letting me listen to you when you spoke to me. Forgive me for never being able to reciprocate your feelings, but it's just that you and I... we didn't have any kind of future together.

You will meet someone who can love you, Boomer, you are not to blame for anything, you were what kept me happy, but I could not make you happy. I love you very much, Boomer, I really do, but like I told you, there will come a someone who will make you trust yourself, believe in yourself, help you grow as a person, someone you will truly fall in love with, and when that happens, you will remember me as a friend, as your beginning, but not as your end."

He didn't want to read any further, lying back on his bed, he held the paper raised over his face. As he read that last paragraph, he smiled. The night had been restless, he thought he had already answered the letter with his song and now he gave it another meaning. If at first he suffered when he read it, now he treasured it as the last record of his first love. He laid the letter on his chest and sighed, how would Brat have reacted to meeting Bubbles? For sure she would do anything to make Bubbles get closer to him, she would have disliked her at first, maybe even annoyed at the resemblance they had, however, he was sure that Brat would eventually like her and would tell her... that she liked the girl, not a romantic liking, but that she liked her.

“Maybe I did meet someone," he murmurs with his eyes closed. “Too bad I can't talk about this with you, Brat”.

**.  
.**

Three months have passed since Boomer's presentation, and during that time, he was officially introduced as the lead singer of Mitch's band: "Wintersun", previously known only as "Winter", but it turns out that Boomer is the only blond and his voice seemed as warm as the sun, so the name had to be changed and no one in the band objected to it. During that period, too, he has been sharing more time with Bubbles, he accompanies her to the bus stop, they went out on weekends, with the excuse of buying strings and a new guitar, sometimes, she would wait for him after his rehearsals with the band and they go together to have something to eat or just to talk.

They were very close friends, very close, they loved each other very much.

On one of those Friday nights, rehearsal was over by seven-thirty, and Bubbles was waiting for him outside the building where they rented a rehearsal room. Boomer complained because he had to work part-time on weekends, restocking products in a supermarket, going two hours before his piano lessons and then working four hours in the morning on Sunday, a difficult rhythm to keep up at first, but it paid off and he did it because with the money he earned he invested in his rehearsal and his new electric guitar.

“I'll buy you lunch today," says Boomer.

“It's a cool spring night," she sighs. “I like this season”.

“But summer's coming," Boomer complains. “My goodness, just imagining the high temperatures... it makes me cranky”.

“That's a problem," Bubbles joked.

The vacation was getting closer and closer, and with it their soon-to-be graduation. At the moment, they liked the idea of being free from school, at the same time, it made them sad that they wouldn't be able to see each other often. They shopped at a food-truck and enjoyed the cool night air, after eating, Bubbles suggested they go for a walk to Townsville Park, before it closed later in the evening, and he agreed.

Normal conversations for teenagers entering adulthood, joking comments and lightly touching hands and arms, they were both happy with that. Boomer looked up at the sky, the stars were appearing again, but this time they were not shining as brightly as in winter, however, he felt that he could see more stars than before and that the sky was turning a certain shade of violet. It could be the light pollution, but in those moments, where you want to feel in love, you prefer to believe that it is a sign from the sky, one that tells you to enjoy the company and the walk, to let yourself be filled with that feeling that human beings long for so much, even unconsciously.

“I'm writing another song," he says. “Mitch and I are working on the melody, but he left me in charge of the lyrics”.

“Oh, that's good," she says. “I hope you can finish it soon and present it, I'll be happy to come and see you”.

“Ha! You  _ must  _ be there”.

“Why?”

“Because”.

“What a lousy argument”.

“Just know that you have to go”.

Boomer wasn't looking at her, in fact, he had his eyes on the road and the street lamps. The warm season was coming, and the spring in that bud made him feel like he was letting some feelings bloom inside him, feelings he already knew. The girl next to him had been in charge of helping him to make a lot of feelings bloom and to revive the desire to fall in love. Had he fallen in love? He was on that path. He looked sideways at her, again, and smiled at her, she reciprocated the gesture.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, accompanied by a laugh.

“Like what?” he wondered.

“As if I were special”.

“Because you are," she turned her head quickly.

“And why don't you tell me directly?” she leaned a little, her cheeks had turned a pink color due to the nervousness that she wouldn't show so as not to lose the advantage of the situation.

“I already said it," he continued without looking at her, Bubbles laughed a little. "What's making you laugh?” He turned to her with a slight frown.

“You get so nervous, I don't understand why. We've been together for so long…”

“As friends," Boomer interrupted.

“And?" she stopped her pace, he did the same. “Does being friends detract from our time together?”

“Not really," he scratched the back of his neck.

They stood facing each other, listening to the noise of the city in the distance, but looking into each other's eyes it seemed as if the whole world disappeared. In Boomer's case, he saw that in the clear blue color of Bubbles' eyes a whole universe of undiscovered feelings and sensations was concentrated; in Bubbles' case, she saw that Boomer's eyes had filled, they now shined and seemed to sparkle when her reflection was in them. There was a big difference, before and after.

“I have the name of the song," Boomer said, taking half a step toward her.

“Oh, yeah? What's it called?”

Boomer licked his lips, took Bubbles' hands, one by one, and stroked them with his thumbs. Neither looked away from the other, as they both tried to hide the nervous smile that threatened to creep onto their faces.

“What's its name?” Bubbles insisted.

“It's called," he threw his head back a little to better look at the sky, lowering it, he smiled at her with conviction, not as if he was going to lose anything, " _ I like you, please go out with me _ ".

_ the end _


End file.
